The monarch's scream tore through the hall.
It was not a common sound. It was not merely rage. It was the primal reaction of something that refused to accept the loss of dominion—an echo of crushed eras trying to impose themselves once more upon the present.
The black flames that wrapped the skeletal body expanded, twisted, as though the void itself were burning. The dark mass where a skull had once existed pulsed, condensing into something denser, more aggressive, like a crown forged from living shadow.
— NO.
The word did not leave a mouth—it left the chamber.
Arthur felt the impact vibrate through the bones of his chest. The air grew heavy again, not as before, not as pure gravity, but as a hostile pressure—directed, conscious.
The black king advanced.
And he was fast.
Far too fast for a body that should have been broken.
He crossed the distance in a violent displacement, dragging shadows behind him like chains, and appeared before Arthur in the blink of an eye. The skeletal hand—now wrapped in a thick layer of dark energy—closed around Arthur's neck.
The fingers tightened.
Arthur felt the dry impact of the grip, the air torn from his lungs for an instant. His feet slid a few centimeters across the stone, deep grooves carving themselves beneath the sudden weight.
The monarch lifted him from the ground.
— Now that your body has grown… — the voice reverberated, distorted, layered — now that you look like an adult… do you truly believe you can face me?
The unseen face leaned in, far too close.
— You are still the same mistake.
Before Arthur could react, the black king twisted and hurled him.
Not into the wall.
Into the rift.
Space folded at the instant of impact.
The blue reacted as if it had been directly provoked. The crack in the wall split wider, opening into an unstable tear far deeper than any physical wound. Arthur passed through the luminous edge as if swallowed—and the world vanished.
But he did not fall alone.
The Orcal roared and charged, leaping without hesitation, his massive body piercing the rift like a projectile. The Luminel raised a hand in instinct, blue and silver energies intertwining around his form before he too was pulled into the collapsing space. The Zaraqnil cast translucent threads into the air—threads that latched onto nothing—and was dragged along, her eyes blazing with alertness.
The human woman screamed.
A short, restrained sound.
The ground beneath her feet disappeared.
And she was pulled in as well.
The black king did not resist.
He entered the rift.
The throne hall collapsed behind them like a memory being torn apart.
---
There was no ground.
There was no sky.
There was movement.
Arthur felt his body pass through layers of something that was neither air, nor water, nor light. It was like crossing concepts—distance, time, weight—everything dissolving and reforming in a rhythm that obeyed no mortal logic.
He stepped.
And something answered.
A dry impact beneath his feet, as though he had stepped onto an invisible surface.
The world formed around them in a single instant.
Open sky.
A deep blue, unlike the blue of the rift—distant, alien. Wind cut through the air carrying the scent of ancient stone and ash. Ahead, colossal walls rose, far too vast to belong to any kingdom Arthur knew. A massive castle dominated the horizon, sharp towers tearing at the clouds, and beyond the walls, a solitary structure lay like a scar out of place.
Arthur barely had time to process it.
The black king burst forth before him, space warping around the dark body. Black flames spread across the nonexistent ground, forming shadows that moved like living creatures.
— Where are we? — the human woman murmured, her voice thick with awe.
— It doesn't matter, — the Orcal replied, clenching his fists — he's here.
The attack came without warning.
The black king extended his arms and the space around them fractured, releasing dozens of skeletal forms that emerged like broken echoes—not full reconstructions, but soldiers forged from condensed shadow and bone.
— Protect her! — the Luminel shouted.
The battle erupted.
The Orcal charged first, his massive frame tearing through space with brutal impact. He crushed the first skeleton with a direct punch, bones shattering into dark splinters. The second was ripped from the ground and hurled away as if weightless.
The Zaraqnil leapt, dimensional threads blooming from her arms like living extensions. They latched onto the skeletons, ripping joints apart, dragging entire bodies out of balance, suspending enemies in the nonexistent air.
The Luminel raised both hands.
Symbols formed in the air.
Lances of pure energy descended from the sky, piercing shadows, pinning skeletons to nothingness with surgical precision.
The human woman closed her eyes.
The wind answered.
But it was not ordinary wind.
Invisible currents bent around her, distorting the space they passed through. Each gust tore skeletons from their positions, shredding them into fragments that dissolved before touching the unseen ground.
Arthur moved.
Beneath the skin of his arms, blue lines surfaced—not solid, not physical—like veins of light running through flesh. Energy gathered in his hands.
He opened his fingers.
And shaped it.
Two blades of blue energy formed from his palms, long, sharp, vibrating with a low, deep hum, as if they sliced the space around them simply by existing.
The black king charged him.
Blades collided.
Blue against black.
The impact rippled through the entire subspace, visible waves tearing through the air. Arthur was pushed several meters back, his feet sliding across nothing, but he did not fall.
— You still do not understand, — the monarch snarled, his voice carrying something beyond hatred — all of this… is not yours.
Arthur answered with a cross strike, the blue blades slicing through shadow like torn fabric. The black king recoiled, part of his body dissolving and reforming in the same instant.
The combat intensified.
The subspace began to tremble.
And then, something struck it.
A colossal impact.
The sky split open in a green tear.
A meteor—massive, irregular, pulsing with poisonous energy—appeared, dragged toward the invisible rectangle where they fought. The space around them contracted, compressing everything.
The black king laughed.
He struck the subspace itself with full force.
The impact deflected the meteor's trajectory, hurling it far away, into a distant hill of that strange world. The collision made the planet itself shudder.
The subspace shattered.
And everything was torn away once more.
---
The fall stopped abruptly.
Arthur felt solid ground beneath his feet.
White stone.
Familiar towers.
A frozen sky.
They were above Dirfázia.
The human castle spread beneath them, time suspended. People motionless, banners frozen in midair, smoke halted like a painting.
Arthur recognized it instantly.
— Charles… — he murmured.
At the top of a structure near the central tower, the royal advisor held a young girl by the neck, her face locked in terror, eyes wide and unmoving.
The black king attacked.
— Do not be distracted.
Dark energy struck Arthur from the side, hurling him against an invisible wall. He recovered in the air, his feet touching nothing once more.
— Why is time frozen here… — Arthur thought — and not there?
Before he could answer himself, something outside that space began to press in.
A dark energy—dense, foreign, unlike the black king's own.
It was trying to enter.
The monarch turned, reverent.
— Master…
His hand rose.
The external energy answered.
The power enveloping him grew grotesquely, black flames thickening, becoming more aggressive. The attack that followed was absolute.
An explosion.
Everything was thrown away.
The subspace shattered like glass.
And all were hurled back toward the blue rift.
The black king emerged first, just ahead of it.
Arthur was seized again by the neck, suspended in the air.
The other three dropped to their knees.
Exhausted.
The human woman staggered.
— No… — the Zaraqnil whispered.
The Orcal breathed heavily.
The Luminel closed his eyes.
They looked at one another.
And then they spoke to her.
— We have already lived longer than we should have, — the Luminel said, his voice calm.
— Our existence now depends on him, — the Orcal added.
— You were not reconstructed… — the Zaraqnil said — you were shaped.
— If he falls, we return to bones, — they said together — but you… you can still live.
Their energy began to dissipate. It was not abrupt. It was not violent. It was serene.
The Luminel was the first to fade. The blue lines running through his body peeled away from his skin like living inscriptions leaving an ancient parchment. The light rose gently, detaching from his chest, his arms, his tranquil gaze still conscious. When the glow fully departed, only bones remained—clean, silent, kneeling on the cold ground.
The Orcal roared one final time. Not in pain. In pride.
Blue energy escaped his veins like luminous smoke, concentrating at the center of his chest before being torn free. His heavy body lost mass, lost strength, lost form—until flesh vanished and bones collapsed with a dry, final sound.
The Zaraqnil was last. All eight of her eyes shone at once. The dimensional threads still trembling around her arms dissolved into particles of light, drawn out as if answering an inevitable call. Her humanoid shape lost density, features receding, until all that she was condensed into a single blue stream—thin, intense—that left behind only a motionless skeletal frame.
Three existences. Three apices. All their vital energy crossed space and entered the body of the human woman.
She arched her back. The air bent around her. Blue veins ran beneath her skin like roots of light, igniting under flesh, pulsing rapidly. The wind answered—not as a gust, but as distortion. Space around her rippled, twisted from within.
She screamed. And in that same instant, the black king advanced. The hand gripping Arthur's neck tightened, lifting him from the ground with effortless strength. The other hand opened and pressed against his chest.
Negative energy began to flow. It did not burn. It consumed.
Arthur felt something being torn from within—not flesh, not mana, but essence. Darkness crept into his vision as the shadow tried to take root.
— Return to nothing, — the monarch's voice echoed, deep, absolute.
The human woman raised her arm. Pointed her finger.
All the blue energy pulsing within her condensed at the tip, compressed to a near-impossible density. The air cracked. Space yielded. Wind ceased to be motion and became vector.
— Dimensional Wind.
The blast did not cross space. It tore space apart.
An invisible line struck the black king head-on. Black flames unraveled like burning paper, negative energy ripped away in successive layers. The monarch screamed—a long, stretched sound—as his body was dismantled, fragmented, erased from existence.
The grip released. Arthur fell.
The impact was dry, close to the throne.
Silence claimed the hall. The blue rift began to close slowly, like a wound finally willing to heal. Residual energy calmed, retreating into the ancient wall.
Arthur breathed with difficulty. He leaned against the arm of the throne, dazed, too heavy to think. But when he tried to move away, something happened.
The throne responded. Not with words. Not with light. With acceptance.
The ancient stone emitted a deep, nearly imperceptible sound—like something recognizing what had always belonged to it. Arthur felt the weight adjust to his body, not crushing him—supporting him.
He sat.
And the throne did not reject him.
For the first time since that place had existed, it was no longer empty.
Mount Arf remained silent.
But in the depths of what observed… something had been decided.